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Will I ever be able to live with someone?
When a psychiatrist writes a referral letter, they mention poignant points: living alone is considered an important issue to communicate. However, at the age of 41, I really don't think it is pathological to not want to stay with someone that I am not shagging. Somehow a person's idiosyncrasies are much more tenable when there is sex involved.
In my current abode I have had two house-mates. The first, a well-spoken, very friendly, very energetic male who left the house at 6am without my hearing him and returned 3-4 nights a week. A few nights a week were spent with his girlfriend. He had a very sweet 3 year old that joined him every other weekend. Sounds great doesn't it? Rent with just a little bit of person with a sweet part-time and very well-behaved toddler.
Enter marijuana. The dude smoked it everyday and it make him more energetic - close to manic. When he was stoned he wanted to start businesses and fix the world. And he didn't just smoke your garden variety weed, he smoked cheese: bought per gram for the same price as a bankie or more and it kicked the shit out of you. I tried it - I couldn't string a sentence together. When he told me that he was going to break up with his girlfriend, which meant him being here seven nights a week, I cracked. I said I couldn't do it. He said he didn't feel welcome and moved out. We remained politely superficial when we saw one another.
End of one chapter. Ready for chapter two?
Someone posted on a Facebook group that they were looking for somewhere to stay for a month or two. I figured how hard could it be? It might help my resilience and help me achieve the goal of getting back to the workplace.
How wrong a person can be?
I really didn't think it through.
When she arrived to meet me she said she had forgotten to tell me that she had a three year old child, I could have been more discerning. I could also say I should have been more discerning, but I don't like to use the words should and ought - they imply blaming and shaming. However, it is quite an important point. She also didn't have a job and would be home during the day, she called herself a healer. WTF was I thinking?
As an adult with depression, OCD and a pathology of cutting, I am sure I am statistically impossible to live with. When I can't deal with things I go to sleep and my cutting behaviour has become worse over the last year to the extent that when I am un-contained, I cut myself. On one occasion I left the scalpel in the bathroom after cleaning it - not a good idea when there is a toddler in the house! I really struggled to adjust to two new beings in my space.
The problem was her parenting skills and the fact that she was "a little rough around the edges". I knew it was none of my business so I didn't say anything when her child became ill with a high temperature and she didn't see fit to give him any medication, despite the fact that she used it: she asked me for anti-histamines once and paracetemol on one to two occasions. Then the toddler got a cold. The he got a cough. At no point was a doctor consulted or medication considered. I was told proudly that the child had never been given medication with the exception of half a spoon of paracetemol that her sister gave him.
Then he got a cold sore, which presented two problems: the little boy was clearly immuno-suppressed and he had a contagious sore that he was not taught not to touch. When I first saw it he said it was a sore and touched it. I told him it was contagious and made him go to the bathroom to wash his hands. When I asked his mother if she knew if was herpes simplex, she casually said that it was getting better. What about the kids at his preschool?
We had one other fight, also about her parenting. Her son called her from the bath regularly and I asked her one day when I was sitting in the lounge if she could hear him. In my mind he son was just checking mom was still around and a simple yes would suffice. She had been told by some personality profile that he son would become demanding if he was indulged so she didn't respond each time. Besides it being irritating, the psychologist in me was concerned that he was not getting the re-inforcement that mom was still around and wasn't going anywhere.
It got ugly. Very ugly. She moved out after the second month as planned despite needing a place to go. She went to house-sit for someone for a month and was then going to move her three year old son for the third time in three months. My heart ached for the sweet little tyke. I had become attached to him and was furious that as a mother, she put he own needs before the basic needs of her child.
Bad parenting is a huge trigger for me.
Like I said, I didn't think it through. Next time I just won't consider the option unless they come with penis and condoms. And sleep in my bed. Or not.